


Sweeter Than Wine

by Go0se



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - All Women, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, And one (1) Canon Compliant. As a treat, Bi Everyone who I write with my bisexual little hands, Bisexual Caleb Widogast, Bisexual Veth Brenatto (Binatto if you will), Canon-Typical Violence, Except for Beauregard who is a lesbian, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Kissing, Light Angst, Minor Veth Brenatto/Yeza Brenatto, Minor Veth Brenatto/Yeza Brenatto/Caleb Widogast, Multi, Species Swap, Spoilers, which is in this case AU - D&D Class Swap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:35:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23264800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Go0se/pseuds/Go0se
Summary: This is a love story in six love stories. Six versions of Caleb and Veth, six kisses.1. Ahandsomedisheveled human rogue and Nott, a wizard. The day they learn about Nott's family is a hard day.2. The Mighty Ladies' Nein, aka, The Mighty No: All-Lady Edition (Molly not included). Accidental post-ocean-battle confessions.3. Veth and Caleb Brenatto love their husband and each other. A conversation in a jail cell.
Relationships: Veth Brenatto/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 22
Kudos: 66





	1. Wizard and Rogue

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure about the title: it is originally from the 'Song Of Solomon’ book of the Bible, but until about ten minutes ago as of posting I only knew it from the Mountain Goats Song, ‘New Chevrolet in flames’ ([link to said song here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Uk42Fn1TM4)). As one does sometimes.
> 
> Additional note: given the timeline in several of these, I'm using 'Nott' to refer to everyone's favourite rogue (or wizard, in the first chapter). I'm using 'Veth' in chapters where it's suited, as well, and her name in canon now is Veth.  
> I wanted to be clear about that because I've seen some of us in the fandom hem and haw about what name to use for her, which I feel like is in bad faith (see: everyone in the group calling her Veth, Sam referring to her in the narration as Veth, her character sheet/D&D Beyond icon saying 'Veth' on it) and Will Not Have in my house  
> Thank you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5e class swap!  
> Warnings: Very much spoilers for both of their backstories, canon-typical violence, mention of suicidal ideation, and (fantasy) detoxing from alcohol.
> 
> ~

Bren never wanted to cast a spell again.

That had been his first coherent thought in years, when he’d surfaced from the bone-deep shock of truth flowing back to him. 'Coherent' was generous. He'd been trying to think through panic, through scorching grief, through mundane gaps in his memory where trauma had done its terrible work, and the newly, terrifyingly refilled memories of his parents' dying screams. His mind had tried to restore itself the best it could. Clarity after so long was in itself disorienting; strange, how easily it and the vessel became desynched.

He really hadn’t been the most stable or sane. Bren had known only two things with certainty: he needed to leave the sanitorium, and he never wanted to cast a spell again.

Murdering the guard stationed outside his room had taken shorter than he'd thought, even with only his bare hands, fingernails bitten to ragged shreds.  
Then he’d ran, and kept running. For five years.

The entire first year, his mind continued to betray him. Fire leapt to his hand at the slightest peril without his conscious thought, an adolescence of training and conditioning showing its effect, blackening and burning the ends of his fingers. The stench clung to his skin, his hair, his filthy clothing.

The guard had died without a sound. Others died screaming. Bren wasn’t sure how many hours he lost staring into the flames, the charred corpses, unable to speak or to move.

Still-- out in the freezing, shadowy woods, and later on miserable roadsides, he re-learned how to breathe. It became easier to think. To plan. Even in only the blurriest and broadest of strokes, a plan was better than the great formless nothing that seemed to wait just at his heel, ready for him to tip into it at any moment.  
He had the amulet the guard had been wearing, and it protected him from scrying spells. (He fell asleep clutching it and woke up with terrible cramps in his hands.) He still needed to stay unseen in more mundane fashions, as well, if he wanted to eat; Bren had no honest way to earn a crust of bread. He tried to avoid any further killing when possible.

A life of thievery got easier and easier, as time went on. This was both because he got better in tiny increments and because as his looks deteriorated, fewer glances were thrown his way. People never stared too long at beggars.  
Bren learned to stay in the shadows. Scheming. Stealing what little he could find, nearly always on the edge of starving, and never quite enough to die.

  
A secondhand set of thieves’ tools pointed him down his new path. He found them under loose straw in a jail cell, hidden by some other poor bastard who’d probably left by the gallows.  
Scratched into the cold stone floor next to them was a message. It was written a language he’d seen around the shadowy places, by now, but didn’t understand. Bren felt over them with his burnt-black fingers, memorizing the shapes and slants.  
He wanted to know what it said. That was a surprise, actually. Many things had been taken from him, but apparently he still had his curiousity.  
The relief that curled inside his chest to realize that was almost painful.

When he got thrown back out of the jail cell, on account of him being human and “least-suspicious”, he made it a point to steal a ragged secondhand notebook and some cheap ink. Two, as point of fact. In the second book, he wrote down the message exactly.

It would be months before the signs made sense to him. When they did, he parsed out the last words someone had left the world as much as he could, and wrote it down in Zemnian. He stared at it for a long moment, fingertips resting lightly on the page so they wouldn’t shake so much from the cold.

 _I commend my soul to whatever god can find it._ _For_ _whoever finds these-- may they bring you more luck than I had._

Well.  
Few were so fortunate as to receive a gift from the dead. Now Bren had three. One stolen, one found and freely given, and one to be repaid. Someday.

  
Five years.

  
Bren put on masks of Phillipe, Garrett, Caiden, Daniel, any other number of aliases thrown together to suit a situation or a town. He’d always been an accomplished liar. Over time his burning (ha, ha) hatred of his own magic faded somewhat, and he made an oath to himself: he would never use magic to kill again. Trick, extort, or if need be harm, but never kill. If Bren had to end someone’s life he would do it with his own filthy hands.

A plan had formed when he’d first broken out of the asylum. Bren was never going to cast a killing spell again, but he was going to do something-- perhaps unimaginable, and for it he needed magic. He needed _books._ And he’d need an ally.  
  
  
*

  
Veth had always loved magic. She’d seen precious little of it growing up in the middle of nowhere and wheat. The exceptions included the town’s only cleric, who was more suited to curing mild to moderate sun-fever than performing miracles; and, memorably, a pair of wandering druids.

The two tended to return every couple years, like geese-like creatures. If anyone asked where they’d came from, they’d point vaguely and say _north._ The suspicious answer was offset by how useful they were. They’d do things spoken of in fairy tales: blessing crops for higher yields the next year, or putting their palms flat to the river as their eyes turned the colour of storms, pulling back a minute later with news from up and down the waterside. All manner of other things, too, if you believed the stories that people gossiped with in the market mornings.

Veth knew at least half of it was bunk, but she drank it all in. Sometimes people would get through a good bit of conversation before they realized they’d been eavesdropped on, and she was pretty fast darting away.

  
One of the reasons she’d loved the old apothecary was how close alchemy came to magic. The second reason, of course, was because Yeza was there. He shared that interest with her, though his ran more purely on the scientific side. He’d hidden her engagement ring in a book about the properties of metals, when he’d asked her. Of all the romantic things. They’d kissed each other soundly until their mouths were bright as copper.  
  
After they were married, Veth decided to learn some magic to help around the house and the business-- just little parlour tricks that she’d heard of. They proved helpful for a lot of things: cleaning and sterilizing the alchemy kits, moving empty containers back on shelves, spicing dinner back into something decent after Yeza inevitably burnt it or left it boiling too long. (She loved him very much; he was a terrible cook.)  
Then, when she and Yeza learned they were pregnant, after the initial flurry of activity she had had a lot of time on her hands, with the baby slowing her a bit. She studied more with what material she could find.

The academic name for the trick she used most was _prestidigitation,_ but that was a hell of a mouthful. She decided to call it _presto_ as in _presto-changeo,_ which was pretty great, right; though Yeza’s suggestion of _Veth’s Gestation Occupation,_ or _VetGo,_ was carefully considered as she and him stitched baby diapers together. (He cursed quietly ever so often, having pricked his fingers, and she'd lean sideways and kiss his cheek to make him smile again.)

She liked her magic. Loved, even. It was something she’d figured out herself, and she was good at it. Though, she didn’t really think that the praise Yeza lavished on her abilities was _that_ true. Sure, she'd learned from books and scraps of information that she'd gleaned from village gossip, but that didn't make her properly trained or anything of the sort. Veth was... a kitchen-magic kind of woman, call it. Not a witch, everyone knew witches were different creatures altogether, but certainly not a wizard.

That thought would come back to her after everything.

She’d escaped the goblin’s capture but lost her husband and their sweet baby, and then lost _herself_ in a way she hadn’t even known was possible. It was strange how much it felt like a betrayal, magic having been used against her by such horrible things.

Miserably drunk on the side of the road, far away from her old home, the goblin’s eyes stared up at the stars.  
The others in the goblin horde had called her ‘Nott’, when they hadn’t addressed her with insults or bits of stone chucked to catch her attention. It was a bad joke. Not strong enough to break free, not fast enough to know if her family had survived, not smart, not brave, not pretty, not good. Not a wizard.

Nott, a wizard.

Maybe she could do something to turn herself back, someday. But she’d need allies, and time, and gods willing some kind of scroll or item that would help her quickly. None of that would be easy. If she could even still do magic at all— she hadn’t tried since she’d been turned.  
Nott let go of the whiskey bottle as she forced herself upright, wobbling dangerously. Focusing on her hand, which only stabbed her heart with a little bit of horror when she had this much alcohol in her blood, she snapped her fingers.

A shower of bright yellow sparks burst from them, like stars from a campfire.

Staring at them and then the air where they faded for a long moment, it took her another moment to realize she was crying.  
She had missed her magic. Veth's magic. She hadn’t even thought of it in the midst of the longing and pain and misery, but she’d missed it so much. And it was still hers, after everything else; weak and thready though it was. The goblin hadn’t taken it from her after all.

  
Weeks later, through the streaky window of a small town's less virtuous bookstore, a sparkle of light caught her eye. A book, its spine inlaid with fine silver thread in complex knots. A _spellbook._ It was the strangest, most questionably sanitary opportunity she’d ever had, and she took it, very literally: with both hands. Sprinting back out under the furious proprieator’s arm, down the street, her prize clutched against her (horrible-wrong) bony rattling chest.

The pretty, glittering details that had been bound into the spellbook’s spine and cover never faded, even after it was trapped for months under Nott’s shirt and cloak, and over her loose half-stay, covered in sweat and muck and blood and rain. Sometimes that made Nott cry, to think about. It was the first pretty thing she’d owned in a long time.

She carved _VetGo_ into the lower-right corner of the cover with a dagger, to remind herself of her ambition. Of how badly she needed to go home.  
  
  
*  
  
  
She really should've known. Her wishes had a horrible, horrible habit of coming true.

They were in Felderwin again, her and the Mighty Nein, and her home was a heap of rubble and cold ashes, her son being raised by a practical stranger, and her husband was gone. Nott couldn’t even let loose the wail of horror that was rattling around her ribcage, because they were being watched. Of course. Of _fucking_ course.

They sat by the river, all seven of them, and the others listened to her story with wide wet eyes. They agreed to help get Yeza back.

There's a moment of relative peace before they go into the tunnels. Instead of screaming until her throat bled, Nott spent an hour on a Find Familiar ritual. That was partly a purely practical matter: she didn’t want to wait until they were inside the worm-hole and make her friends breathe in the incense for too long, since Gods only knew how much ventilation there’d be down there. It was also partly a reason to stay away from everyone for a bit.

The comforting dullness of alcohol had been magically sapped from her system. Her skin felt rubbed raw, without it, and she visibly shook as her hands flitted through the familiar motions of the spell.  
To their credit, and maybe thanks to Mr. Clay's gentle interventions, everyone left her alone.

When she had Aura back, perched on her shoulder in a beautiful tawny owl form, the Nein set off into the tunnels. Off into a strange, terrifying land, to try and rescue her husband from those who took him. If they can find him. (Jester said he’s alive, at least, at _least,_ so that was something.)

Caleb was avoiding her. He scouted near the front of the group, shoulders up near his ears and Frumpkin wound tightly around him.

Nott tried to swallow the sick mix of anger and guilt that wells up when she looked at him, but-- she couldn’t.  
She wasn’t _sorry,_ was the thing. Nott loves Caleb so much, and she loves Yeza so much, and it can’t be a competition between them in her heart-- they’re so similar but the circumstances of where, how, and when she knows them were so _different._ Seeing Caleb hurting was awful. Imagining Yeza in pain and alone somewhere in the dark is inexcusable.  
And even if it turned out to be the Xhorhassians that took her husband, instead of Caleb’s people-- she’d still meant it. Fuck the Assembly. Fuck the people in Caleb’s past that had anything to do with them.

It all soured heavily, blocking up the back of her throat, and Nott didn’t say anything.

Instead, she made the bubble and Cad obligingly shaped a stone roof over it. Everyone crowded in and rolled out their beds, huddling into sleep. Nott curled up near Jester and Beau, her knees resting by Jester’s horns and her head inches away from the long stretch of Beau’s let-down hair.

The air inside the hut was warm and dry and breathable, her friends' slow sleep sounds comforting. But she still couldn’t rest.

Some while later, she felt movement.  
Nott opened her eyes to see Frumpkin padding carefully between the other two women, coming up to her with his lamplight eyes round and gentle. He paused with a twitch of his whiskers when he noticed her looking.

Aura shuffled, fluttering down from where she’d been “dozing”. (Familiars don’t actually need to sleep, Caleb liked to remind her, but Nott thought it was cute.) She landed in front of Nott and puffed up protectively.  
Frumpkin’s gaze shifted to her.  
As a tawny owl, Aura was almost as large as him. If Frumpkin were a real cat he’d probably feel the need to slink away right about now. (Nott resisted the petty wish that he _would_.) 

Instead of leaving, though, Frumpkin padded forwards again and very gently butted his head against Aura’s large, feathery belly. He was purring.  
In response, traitorously, Aura’s feathers de-poofed. She settled herself by shifting on her talons, and nuzzled Frumpkin back, chirping softly into the fur between his ears.  
The fae cat chirped back.

Nott felt her stomach give a weird jump; not quite turning over, but something close. She didn't want to pull Aura away, though. _No shittalking when I can’t understand you,_ Nott thought at her instead.  
Aura fluttered her wings in response, and Nott rolled her eyes.

When she did, something caught the peripheral of her vision.  
Caleb, his back to the wall on the other side of the bubble, hair falling into his eyes. He was making a very valiant attempt at not paying attention. Nott could see in the dark, though, so she noticed the glint of his eyes as he glanced up from behind his bangs. More importantly the wistful, warm expression on his face as Frumpkin wound around Aura like he’d wind around someone’s legs.

Ah.

She'd already thought it was pretty fucking adorable, but if he was looking over at them like that, then the gesture was at least half Caleb. More, if he was in fact looking through the cat’s eyes right now. Certainly more than just a friendly overture. It was an apology.

 _  
... ah_ , Nott thought again. She was a little light-headed, all of a sudden. The moment seemed suspended like a star in the dark.

Her entire being still hurt. The betrayal was fresh, and she still wasn’t _sorry._ Even with all of that, though-- even with all of it-- she wasn't _actually_ a goblin, all gristle and cruelty, without a shred of mercy in her. She could forgive a lot of things from people she loved.  
And Gods, she loved him. She couldn’t bear him thinking otherwise.

The complicated mess of pain and worry in her chest didn’t give way, but it eased all at once.

  
Nott didn’t know if saying anything out loud would help. Maybe it was still too soon for that. Instead, she rubbed her fingers together in Frumpkin’s direction, whispering a _pspspspsps_ noise as well as she could without cutting herself on her horrible goblin teeth.  
The fae cat’s ears perked immediately and he uncurled himself from Aura to trot over, pushing his head against her neck.  
On an impulse she didn't think entirely through, but didn't question, Nott leaned forwards and kissed Frumpkin on the nose.  
  
Across the bubble, Caleb gave a sharp intake of breath.  
She pretended not to notice, and instead shifted onto her side, facing away from Frumpy in pantomimed nonchalance. Her heart was hammering.  
After a moment, she felt his warm weight settle against her back.

  
Unbidden, her shoulders relaxed and her spine softened. With her ears pricked, she thought she heard Caleb sigh softly too.  
_Oh, Caleb._ Her partner in crime. Her _partner_ , flat-out; nothing less. ... nothing more? She honestly couldn’t say; everything was too much of a storm inside her to tell. But certainly nothing less.  
They would be okay. She’ll make sure of it, somehow.

For now, she closed her eyes so she didn’t have to look at the ragged claws on the end of her hands, and thought privately in Caleb’s direction. “ _Thank you for being with me._ ”  
  


Behind her, Aura gave a gently approving hoot. She fluttered over to Nott’s backpack again, retaking her perch and keeping watch over them for the rest of the night.

  
~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sources include:  
> -The last words from the unknown other thief are from ‘Going Postal’ by Terry Pratchett  
> -The druid spells mentioned are both from Pathfinder, because it's my system and I love it for all it's wild-ass shit: they are 'Plant Growth' (level 1) and ‘Riversight’ (level 2) respectively. 
> 
> -'The goblin hadn't taken it from her after all' line is intentionally singular. All other typos are on me, however.  
> -'Find Familiar' is available to arcane trickster rogues, and I legit find it hard to picture Caleb without Frumpkin, so I figured he would absolutely keep him. Love Is Stored In The Cat (and owl)  
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> (+ Also: hey, for a familiar, Aura's, y'know, a pretty good. Winglady. She's a pretty good WINGla )


	2. Mighty Ladies' Nein (or: "Get In, Loser, We're Going Pirating")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Veth's backstory tbh, which is to say alcoholism, canon-typical described body dysmorphia, potential Complicated Feelings in re: infidelity, mentions of drowning, and mentions of bullying / social exclusion. Mind the gap.
> 
> -

They crawled out of the ocean frightened and bleeding, but victorious. By a certain measure of victory; Ary had gotten another one of her cursed-ass snake orbs, which Nott guessed was good, but didn't care that much. The most important thing to her was that they were _out.  
_ Before all of them were even over the taffrail, Ary raised her voice to a captain's shout, calling all hands to the deck to get them the fuck out of there. That was something Nott could agree with the other woman on, for once.

Her feet solidly on the Ball-Eater’s deck once again, Nott turned and spat into the ocean. Partly to try and clear the goddamn _water_ out of her lungs. (The feeling, heavy and awful, so much like all her nightmares, so much like--) Partly just to insult the thing. Turning back around, she wiped furiously at her stinging eyes.

That was of course the exact moment that a crack of thunder broke like a god’s ribcage and the sky opened up, pouring a storm onto the soon-frothing water just a few dozen yards away.

Most of the storm’s wrath avoided their ship, but the rain still pissed down steadily. Nott’s loud cursing was muffled by the startled yells of the shipmates as everyone scurried around, grabbing for the sails and ropes and whatever else.  
Nott scuttled out from underfoot, crowding close to the staircase between the decks so she could be out of the way, but also as far from the ocean as possible. She hunched down, feeling her too-large ears pin back, quivering against her hair.  
“Are you okay, Ms. Nott?” Caduceus’ gentle voice asked from somewhere above her.  
She squinted to see the firbolg woman bending to one knee, expression curious and a little worried. Rain dripped from her hair down the fine blue fur of her face in rivulets, making her look like some kind of benevolent dryad. (Or it would, if you hadn’t watched the woman feed an enemy to her terrifying beetle army on several occasions. Which was, honestly, impressive.)  
“Ah! Oh, I’m, uh. I’m okay, Ms. Clay. Thank you,” Nott managed, “Just got a bit of a headache." She hadn’t had a drink in _hours._ “I have the home remedy for it though, don’t worry.”  
Caddy’s ear flicked for a moment, before she smiled. “Nah, that won’t be necessary, I can help. Here--” And before Nott could protest, she’d begun tracing the well-grooved runes in her crystal focus, pulling out warm, crackling pink energy with her fingertips.  
Sighing inwardly, Nott accepted the spell without flinching; and for a moment the lesser-restorative magic that flowed through her was good, warm and calming. It also washed the drink right out of her system. Godsdamn it all.  
Caduceus squeezed her shoulder lightly, then stood up-- and up, and _up_ \-- and meandered away, going to check on the others.  
Nott hissed silently at her back, halfhearted.

“Hey, Nott The Brave!” Phillipa called out behind her, her accent bending across the breeze.  
Clear-headed and feeling wretched about it, Nott turned, still scowling a bit. That dropped abruptly when the first thing she saw Phillipa still wearing octo-Frumpkin on her head, tendrils hanging down over Phillipa’s face like a mask. Phillipa spread her hands out in the universal gesture for ‘Well, what do you think?’.  
She grinned broadly-- or what was visible of her face did-- when Nott burst into startled laughter. “Pretty great, right I should’ve thought of this _years_ ago!”  
“It’s-- it’s certainly something _,_ Philli.”  
With a squelch, Phillipa peeled her currently-octopus familiar off her head. “I’ll take it,” she said magnanimously.

Nott laughed at her again, and without thinking much, launched herself across the deck to hug her friend around her skinny waist.  
Phillipa managed to catch her around her shoulders, swinging her around like in a two-step. It was a bit awkward, seeing as she was still holding Frumpkin to her hip, but by far not the weirdest way they’d hugged.  
Moving on instinct, Nott let go of Phillipa’s waist and literally ran up onto her, taking care only to hook her claws into the reinforced bits and buckles of Phillipa’s outfit that they knew (through trial and error) wouldn’t puncture.  
The shift in weight seemed to take Philli by surprise, but her friend adjusted instinctively. “What is it, Nott?” She asked, holding her as the boat rocked.  
Nott opened her mouth to say something about being farther from the water making her feel better, but what came out was, “Don’t you _fucking_ do that again, okay?”  
Phillipa blinked, surprised and concerned. “I-- what?”  
“You almost died!” Nott screeched, only remembering at the last minute to keep her voice down so she wasn’t yelling directly into her face. “You just keeled over! And now your hand’s all fucked up, don’t think I didn’t notice. It’s bad enough we’re in the water already! Be careful.”  
Phillipa looked shocked, but as Nott kept ranting her expression softened into an enormously fond smile that went all the way to her warm eyes. When she'd wound down, she said, “Ja, well. You are right, you know, when you always tell me I’m puny and weak. I did my best.”  
“I don’t mean it like that!” Nott said immediately. "You're very powerful. Intellectually, you know, you're a giant. I just _worry._ "  
She put her hand on Phillipa's sunburned cheek and then kissed her there, and on her pretty lips thoughtlessly. Her own lips buzzed.  
  
Pulling back a second later, Nott squinting when her vision rocked back and forth. “... you are pretty weak, though,” she clarified, as calmly as she could.  
Phillipa had frozen. But she laughed at that, the moment unsticking; then spun them both around, giddy from their narrow escape even as Nott squawked and clung onto her.

The rest of the evening’s sailing passed by normally. As normally as you could get with the Nein. Nott got herself steadily drunker, feeling bad for wasting Caddy’s gift but worse for staying completely sober a second longer than she had to.

At sundown, Ary called a team meeting in her newly appointed captain’s quarters, and they all decided where the fuck they were going next.  
It was partly a numbers game. With the clerics’ magic they had enough supplies in terms of food and water, but Jester would need to restock her girl potions soon, and the situations the Nein had left ashore wouldn’t just resolve themselves. They were waiting for them there, in Nicodranus’ lights and the Empires dry summer. They all knew they'd have to go back eventually.  
Plus, if nothing else, the crew needed a break. All of the women had worked hard, and were in _way_ over their depth after the whole Darktow disaster. They'd more than earned some time off. (Or the ladies and Marius, specifically. Fucking Marius.)

Ary wiped her long hair back from her forehead when they'd reached a concensus. “Okay. I wanted to say right now,” she said solemnly, her deep accent round at the _‘o’_. “I really appreciate y’all’s help. I know all the sacrifices we’ve made to be this far. It... it really means a lot to me. I couldn't've done _any_ of this without this group.”  
She'd been so sincere. Nott hadn’t quite been able to keep all her snark back, but that was fine; Ary always gave back as much as she took, so to speak. It was a fun banter between them that only rarely segued over to genuine malice (-- and that, Nott was used to as well, anyway).  
The other ladies were quieter, adding suggestions here and there without much banter.  
Beau didn’t have many things to add at all, surprisingly; as first mate, she was usually right in front with the planning and navigating.  
Nott suspected that was at least half because Beau was trying not to stare at everyone else, with their clinging clothes and dripping hair. Beau’s brown skin was a bit lighter than Veth’s had been-- or, she thought? Nott was pretty sure, at least-- but not quite enough to tell if she was blushing, especially in the patchy light from Phillipa's cantrips. But her furtive glances were easy to spot.  
Mostly she looked towards Jester. Nott understood that. Jessie drew all of them in like moths; even her own attention was drawn to her beautiful co-detective honestly. Her, and Phillipa.  
That was... part of the problem.

Even under the booze and the lingering shock of nearly-avoided death, Nott was thinking. And certain things were becoming clearer again.

By the time her and Phillipa were in their room that night, her second buzz had faded into nothing. This was unfortunate, since it was easier to deal with Phillipa stripping off behind her when Nott was at least a bit drunk.

Phillipa set some Dancing Lights to glow around their darkened cabin and undid her cloak, clothes, and stay matter-of-factly. She kept on her underwear and a much-stained undershirt which settled lightly over her breasts. Nothing Nott hadn’t seen before. She knew Phillipa wouldn’t mind if she caught a flash of her bare skin. Neither of them bathed much in the beginning, sure, but in the months that the two women had known each other there’d been a handful of times that they’d sluiced off in the river; and Phillipa was not particularly body-shy.

No. Nott was avoiding looking at Phillipa undressing to try and make _herself_ feel better.

It was an issue she’d had before. Issues, plural, really; some were easier to deal with than others. Her attraction to Phillipa, for example. Desire wasn’t a stranger to her, not even in this body; embarrassingly so, in this body. Phillipa was handsome, and her face like it’d been made from blown-glass. Nott had thought she was gorgeous since the first time she’d seen her, looking far-away with the moon shining on her face in the dank city cell. And she wasn’t ever going to tell the wizard that, so that was uncomfortable to deal with, but overall fine.

More complicated were Nott’s feelings about the Philli being comfortable enough to undress in front of her. There was warmth, of course, gladness at being so close to her; directly beside horrid, persistent worry that Phillipa only did so because Nott didn’t really _count_ to be naked in front of, the same way you don’t worry about being naked in front of a baby, or a houseplant.

And the worst: looking at Phillipa made Nott feel _wrong_. The wizard’s clever soot-stained hands and her soft lips, her chest and her pretty hair that glowed in the Dancing Lights-- it wasn’t a comparison exactly, but seeing her curves and angles made Nott horribly _aware_ of how her own green skin felt shrunk-wrapped like a dried husk, too thin and dry and restricting to actually be _her._ She remembered her actual body, Veth’s body, fat and warm and sturdy, and it... Hurt. It actively hurt, to think of, to be reminded.  
  


Thankfully, or not, that particular night her original life was the last thing she was worried about. Nott’s face felt hot. She kept seeing their kiss in her mind, over and over.

Veth had kissed girls before, but that was more than a decade ago, when they were all a bit sauced on sherry wine someone had stolen from their parent’s drawer and no one minded her hanging on the edges of a social circle. They’d always been uncoordinated, usually dares, and not more than once with one person. Different from kissing boys-- kissing Yeza-- but not that different.

It hurts to think of Yeza, and how she’ll likely never see him again; or at least, not for a long time. She bites her lip which is way more of a deal with these terrible goblin teeth, and pushes the thought back down in the dark basement where they came from. A lot of her thoughts came down to picking the less volatile ones.

She couldn’t think of missing Yeza, so, she focused on how she missed _kissing._ Missed affection. And sex, for that matter.

“I don’t mean to be presumptuous, you know,” Phillipa said behind her.  
Nott’s ear perked up and she turned, relieved for the distraction and to see that the other woman was once again clothed. “How do you mean, Philli?”  
“Just, if-- if you’re not comfortable with, ah.” She gestured between them vaguely.  
Nott copied the motion while raising her eyebrows with a grin. Honestly, she kind of _wasn’t,_ but she didn’t want her Phillipa to know that, so it was easier to play silly.  
“You know what I mean,” Phillipa said finally, a touch exasperated.  
And, yes. She did. The very slight amount of space between them in the little seafaring cot. The small room that was more grit-and-bare-bones functional than really private by intention, but private nonetheless. Their own lack of clothes, dirt, or masks; strangely more honest than normal. (The general inappropriateness of a married woman, like Veth, sharing a bed with someone other than her spouse.) Unable to say any of that, Nott smiled a bit thinly. “It’s alright,” she demurred; it wasn’t _not_ alright, at least.

Resisting the urge to take a nip from her flask (and ignoring the implications of _taking a nip_ to begin with), Nott climbed up onto the bed with Phillipa as casually as she could. She nestled into the thin mattress, and waited for Phillipa to lie down and summon Frumpkin as a teddy-cat.

Instead, she just looked at Nott distractedly, for long enough that Nott was once again acutely aware just how close they were. Was it her imagination or the Dancing Lights, or was Phillipa’s pretty, pale face actually reddening slightly?  
“Nott The Brave,” Phillipa said solemnly.  
“Philippa Widogast,” Nott replied, feeling like she might as well. “... what?” She’d kept staring at her.  
Phillipa did a funny little shrug, and then finally, she laid down on the bed. She tucked her legs up close and adjusted her bandages around her fingers, laying on her side so she and Nott were nearly nose to nose. Gently, Phillipa tucked some of Nott’s lank hair out of her eyes, around her large ears. (Nott intentionally suppressed a twitch at the tickle.) “I was just, ah, thinking--”  
“Well, that’s dangerous. Bad past-time.”  
“-- yes, I know. But I am thinking, um. How deep were you in that flask of yours, earlier?” Phillipa bit the corner of her pretty lip.  
Nott's gaze caught on them for a moment. Her lips weren’t the colour of rosebuds, like numerous swooning heroines and heroes in Jester’s porn books had. They were ruddier, and chapped from being out on the ocean. And her cheeks weren’t perfectly porcelain, with freckles dotted across them and a couple small scars from flying embers. They were just perfect. It may have been a little distracting.  
She tried to answer the question. “I... had a buzz on, I would say. Y’know. Not much of one, with all the magic and I couldn’t, like, _drink_ underwater really, and we were down there for a _while_ \--”  
Phillipa nodded emphatically. “Ja, no, that was fucked up.”  
“-- so, not that deep, no. Uh... why?”

Silence in their small cabin, except for the far-away calls of the ship’s crew and the omnipresent rushing of the water on the outside. The waves were blocked out by the increasing pounding of Nott’s heart, uncomfortably rabbit-quick to begin with and now reaching critical levels.

“You kissed me, Nott the Brave,” Phillipa said finally, with all possible gentleness.

Another long moment passed between them, heavier than the one before it.  
Nott was fully, wretchedly sober. Her best friend was looking at her so gently. Her very pretty, halfway undressed best friend who she was now pretty sure she’d die for, if no other option showed itself before Philli needed her protection. With her chapped lips and perfect face. Her eyes such a nice pale blue; like Yeza’s, like calm sky over an open field of flowers.

“... yes,” Nott allowed. She didn’t chew on her lip, which were suddenly feeling particularly cracked and dry, with how Phillipa was studying them. “Yes, I... did.”

The sea itself seemed to hold its breath.

Phillipa smoothed her palm over Nott’s cheek, as she’d done so many times before. Nott’s ears twitched. “Would... ah. Would you like to do it again?”  
“I-- what?”  
Phillipa smiled. “Would you like to make out with me, Nott The Brave,” she said formally. A hint of laugh in her tone, but not... _at_ Nott.  
With her hands on her face, Nott was sure her wizard could feel her cheeks burning, even if her green skin didn’t reveal much in this light. She opened and closed her mouth a few times like a fish. Finally she said, “Really?” Her hoarse voice cracked a little. She could feel how her ears had turned nearly straight up in surprise.  
“Really,” Phillipa promised, immediately. “I, ah.” She sucked her lips into her mouth again, like she was planning the next words as carefully as a spell. “I-- I care a great deal for you, Nott. I... I always have, but especially in the last few weeks, it’s. The whole group, really, I’ve never been in the company of so many other women for long before--”  
“-- me neither,” Nott agreed, her heart in her throat. And it was true; though she was still reeling, there was a warmth in her at the thought of all of them, their Nein. She was sure that other adventuring groups must have a lot of guys, and hers was just special. But gods, being around women was lovely. Having _friends_ was lovely. Especially after so long being ignored or hated, or back when she was Veth being ignored and politely shuttled to the edges of groups of housewives in the village gossip, one half of the weird Brenattos with their strange store that smelled of chemicals and outcasts-- but she _wasn’t thinking_ about that. She swallowed. “It’s... I mean. I love these people.”  
The light was so soft on her wizard’s face. Her hair spilling onto the pillow, lit up like a pretty brass button on a coat. “Yes. Very much.” Phillipa’s soft smile was heavy on Nott’s heart. “But none so much as you." She brushed her hand across Nott's cheek again, resting gently on her cheekbone.

"I mean to say... if you would. Want to share a bed, with me. I’d be honoured.”  
“... that’s, uh. That’s a little heavy to be talking about kissing, Philli,” Nott said, trying for levity.  
Phillipa snickered. “Ja. I guess so.” She paused, almost hesitating. “It’s... do you not want to? It’s alright if you don’t, I.”

“No, no, I _definitely_ want to, yes,” Nott cut in hurriedly. She wriggled a little on the cot, propping herself up on her elbow for a better kissing orientation. Then she paused, catching herself. That'd been _forwards_ , hadn't it? Gods.  
But she could already feel the intense goblin _want_ clawing up her back; like hunger, but a need for skin instead of meat; to touch, to feel, to set trembling. It wasn't _unlike_ her own feelings, at least. Just magnified like a sunbeam under an eyeglass. Still, she was embarrassed, and shrank down.

Phillipa either didn't notice or didn't care. “Oh,” she breathed; she blinked a second, then smiled. The same soft, fond expression as she had on the deck of the ship that afternoon.  
Nott smiled back, though it was probably hardly noticeable before Phillipa shifted her hand to cup the back of Nott’s head, leaning forwards and kissing her soundly.

  
If she'd been thinking about it, which she certainly hadn't, Nott may have imagined Phillipa would be a little shy. But it turned out her friend was in fact the opposite; smooth and confident, like she sometimes was when she needed to talk them out of trouble, like the teeth don’t bother her at all. Like she’d had _practice._  
Nott melted into it, holding onto the back of Phillipa’s neck with the crook of her arm and pressing their chests together. (She very carefully did not think about her own practice; the person she’s missing.) It was _good._ It was so good, being so close to her. She curled her hands into the loose neck of Phillipa’s shirt, carefully burying her claws in the fabric so she wouldn’t scratch her by accident.  
In answer, Philipa wound her clever fingers through Nott’s lank hair and held her gently. They pulled away, then both pressed forwards again smoothly. It felt natural. Safe.  
Phillipa’s kiss tasted like nothing much, except saltwater. Nott didn’t mind. For a minute she didn’t even hate the ocean. It rocked around the hull of the ship gently, masking any sounds they might have made, and the stress of the day left them together.

_-_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure, I spent a good chunk of editing time wrangling this from getting slightly hornier than I intended. (And I _still_ ended potentially-implying that they boned after they made out for the first time, without even noticing I had until the final read-through, so now it's just staying there. Did they actually? I don't know! That is up to you, dear friends)
> 
> Further notes:  
> Saying first off that any name can be any gender if the person who has that name says so. That said, I had fun picking more traditionally feminine-sounding ones for the ladies, as follows:  
> Ary - It's short for ‘Estuary’. Because 'Fjord' is legit just a noun, and it was the closest in meaning I could find that wasn’t also, like, ‘sound’ (which is a beautiful name for a place but confusing as fuck), and wasn’t too close sonically to ‘Jester’.  
> Caddy - Her full name is still Caduceus, as in the healer’s staff. She still uses honorifics for everybody at this point.  
> Phillipa – ‘Caleb’ was an in-universe pull out of a hat and I couldn't find a more feminine version that I liked; Caleb said his name was Phillip when they meet Avantika, so I just worked off that.
> 
> All of the crew are in fact also ladies, except Marius because I thought it was funny! This includes Cheerful Cajun Grandma-Turtle Orley, who is the best, and everything about her is the same except her gender.  
> Jester is a trans woman, and Molly-- may he rest in peace-- was a DMAB nonbinary tiefling and major disaster bi, as in canon. Beau is a lesbian, and everyone else is bi, teetering between Functional and Disastrous. Absolutely none of them are Distinguished despite their best efforts. 
> 
> Beau, as all of her gorgeous lady friends come climbing out of the ocean, fresh from victory, gleaming with magic, rain and oceanwater streaming off of their clothes and hair: _“I am looking respectfully”_
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Married Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for: shitty fantasy cops, non-graphic injury, references to (past) alcohol addiction, canon-typical self-loathing on both Caleb & Veth's sides.
> 
> I really did mean to update this more than once every three months, but my brain has become absolute oatmeal! /o\ My apologies.  
> Also: this one is a little sad! Sorry a second time.
> 
> ~

Veth was pretty sure she was dying.

A litany of ‘if only's’ ran through in her mind, even as she swore blue streaks at the Port Damili militia throwing her into the cell. If only the Nein had arrived on time instead of at nightfall, if they’d docked somewhere they had _allies,_ if they’d cleaned up from those harpies just off the coast before they’d clambered out of the boat, if they’d seen the fucking _thief guild_ before they’d gotten Caduceus, if fates had been with them more, if, if…  
She hadn’t gotten a good look at the wound in her side in all the chaos, but the stain seeping through her shirt was clear enough. The fear had bled out of her on the way from the docks to the jailhouse. Now she was just tired... which wasn't a _great_ sign.

Her hands met the floor first, only enough to keep her nose from crunching into it. The immediate stench of hay, dirt, and cold stone was dreadfully familiar. It was warm at least, and somehow dry. Almost better than outside. The whole city stank of salt and dead ocean things.  
Veth swallowed her nausea and tried to focus on the only thing that mattered. _Caleb_.  
Her wizard was dropped onto the ground right after her, spitting a curse through his clenched teeth. Bruised and bleeding, but not nearly as much as her, thank the gods.

(If they hadn’t gotten separated from everyone, if--)

“You be quiet in here and the magistrate _might_ have mercy, come morning,” their jailer threatened from above them. Veth and Caleb had been lectured on the way over how the militia didn’t have any time for “pirates” or “disturbers of the peace”. Fuckers.  
Veth rolled onto her side and flipped them off, keeping her hands steady with effort. Caleb hadn’t gotten up yet, but he was conscious, so she knew he was staying down on purpose; if the guards thought he wasn't a threat now, they’d leave him alone. _Always_ so smart.  
“May the Lawbearer look fondly on you,” the other guard sneered. Then the cell door clanged shut.

  
She dropped the double birds to press her hands to her side, muttering her own curse. Otherwise she and Caleb waited a minute in silence, listening to steps echoing back down the muddy hall.

  
As soon as they went quiet, Caleb pushed himself up, turning to her with naked worry across his face. He held out his arms wordlessly.  
Veth leaned into them, biting back a yelp as he heaved himself to his feet and carried them both, only stumbling a little, to the back wall of the cell.  
Shoulders pressed to the rough stone he slid down to the floor again. His handsome face was pinched as he drew her close, cradling her like a lover lost at sea.

Veth wiped her hand off as discretely as she could on her jacket, reaching to cup his cheek. “Hey, babe,” she said. Her voice sounded worse than usual; hoarse and croaky.  
"Hallo, Veth.” The way he said her name, on the other hand, was lovely to hear, even after years. Always a little breathy and earnest.  
“... quiet night,” Veth noted. She gestured at the empty cells around them.  
Caleb shifted his hold, squinting into the shadows. “Ja,” he said. “Early in the week, perhaps. Are-- are you okay?” His voice shook.  
Veth bit her lip. “I... don’t have any of my shit,” she said instead. The guards had taken her bolts and crossbow, dagger, all her vials, anything that seemed like a weapon. “Those fuckers.”  
“Ja. I do not have any of my components, either,” he said. He shook his head ruefully. “I’m surprised they thought to even confiscate the iron shavings and bag full of, you know, bat shit. They must be less ignorant about magic here than, ah, our friends in the Empire were.”  
“Maybe they were just weird perverts. Or someone they work for is a pervert,” she suggested.  
He gave a solemn nod. “Entirely possible. Though if that’s true, I’d rather not know.”  
“Yeah, me neither.”  
“At least they left us our coats.”  
Veth could feel the sweat spots under her stay and behind her ears. Her cleavage was a swampy nightmare. “I’m sure we’ll need them here. Prime coat weather.”  
At the tease, Caleb snorted, and Veth smiled back in the dimness.  
Caleb wasn’t wrong, of course; he was so seldom ever wrong. The guards hadn’t taken _everything._ Veth could feel the small bump of his wedding ring against the fat of her back, for example, and it was a comfort. She hoped that he could feel her own ring’s coolness on his face, too.  
She hoped he couldn’t feel all the blood at her side.

  
Logically she knew the others would find them. They might even take the time to do paperwork, pay their bail, and get her and Caleb out legally like professional sea merchants. More likely, though, the Nein would bust in through magic or force and they would all need to skip town pretty much immediately. Veth loved all of them, fiercely, but they were not the most subtle of people. Nevertheless: her and her wizard would be found.  
  
That didn’t stop the sharp pains or her pounding head _now_ though, or thin the haze beginning to creep over her vision.  
Best to just... say something. “I, uh. I’d jailbreak us, but, without my tools--” She shook her head. (Her ear was stinging, Veth realized suddenly. One of her earrings had probably been ripped during the fight. _Shit._ ) “Unless I could-- sneak out, or--”  
“No, no.” Caleb shushed her, his grip holding closer. “That’s-- it’s not the first night we’ve spent in a cell, ja? It’s fine.” He cleared his throat. “I cannot just bamph us out, either. I’m pretty much tapped for magic, right now.” The self-deprecation crumpled him up, like always.  
She smoothed it away as best she could. It didn’t work really, but his expression softened.

“You know, this will be a hell of a story for our husband when we get back,” Caleb said into the quiet some time later.  
Veth startled. She’d stared at a bit of worn stone overhead until it seemed to warp and bend like a maze. Even the slight movement of her neck made her head swim. The words processed and she nodded. “As long as we’re clear that it’s not a metaphor, this time. Dibs on not having to explain it.” Yeza was brilliant and she missed him terribly, but _man_ , that had been a weird conversation. (She purposefully didn’t think about when she’d see him again, or she would panic, and she couldn't do that. Not now.)  
Caleb scrunched his face up at her in mock annoyance. “Well, you know. Not everything we do is easy to believe.”  
Smiling fondly, Veth nodded. “It really isn’t. … Kinda romantic, though,” she added after a second of consideration. “You know, met in a prison cell. Dying in a prison cell.”  
The levity vanished like a snuffed candle. “Hey. You will _not_ die today,” he said sharply.  
She shifted her head on his chest to look at him better. “I admire your positivity, Lebby.”  
His frown, framed by lank hair and crinkled eyes, reminded her vividly of Patches whenever the cat needed a bath. He hissed at her halfheartedly.  
_Aww._ “Don’t make me laugh, it hurts my insides,” she wheezed. “And, hey. That’s my line.”  
It wasn’t anymore, of course, and hadn’t been for some time; long enough that the blood and green misery had washed from her skin, covered by warm touches over and over. If she made a joke about herself, the memories didn’t hurt.  
A beat of silence. “... you do say it better than me.” Caleb smiled the warm, strained way he did when stressed.  
  
“Well. D’you think you can spare a dying woman a last kiss?” She asked, looking from below her eyelashes. Playing it up, because if he was answering her he wasn’t panicking. Also her pulse was shaky and it was easier to stay calm when he was talking to her, but that was secondary.  
Caleb’s expression turned to a grimace. Still, he shifted his hand through her hair and started tenderly running his fingers through it. “Are you sure?”  
Gods, her braids must be a mess right now. But it felt nice. “That feels nice,” Veth said, distracted. She would've thought she’d be more bashful as a dying woman, but it turned out, no. “And, I mean. It's kind of overdue, isn't it? We haven’t kissed since we became fugitives again.”  
“That ‘again’ is carrying a lot in that sentence, Veth.”  
She shrugged as best as she could. “Eh. Maybe.”  
Caleb snorted. “You are a menace, you know,” he said, tone softer as he dipped towards her. “I’m glad I am on your side.”  
“We’re on each other’s side,” Veth corrected, stroking his hair back from falling into his face. (Or her.)

His lips were warm and dry, chapped a bit as they often got in summer. It seemed he either didn’t notice the blood on her teeth, or it didn’t bother him much, because after a moment of relatively chaste kissing he opened his mouth and added some Marquet into it.  
Surprised, but enthusiastic, Veth responded in kind. Warmth bloomed through her chest and her face.  
Caleb shifted slightly, tipping her head back a bit to get a better angle for the both of them. He started rubbing slow, languid lines through her hair, his other hand moving from her hip to mimic the motion on her breast.  
Veth moaned. She arched into the kiss without thinking, then pulled back, wincing at the sting that sharpened itself on her side. " _Shit._ "  
Caleb pulled back, his fingers stilling. “I-- is that okay?” He asked, worry adding creases to his forehead.  
“I-- yeah, I'm, I'm okay. And making out's always good with me, but… now?” She said a bit weakly. Then a thought occurred to her. She squinted up at him, a disbelieving grin growing. “Are you trying to _seduce me_ into not blacking out?”  
He shrugged while moving as little as he could. “Is it working?” He murmured back, voice a little warmer, lower; flirtier? Oh, it so was.  
  


At that, Veth did laugh. The stab that went through her guts was arguably worth it; but then it turned into a cough. Ow. _Fuck_.

Hitting her like a club to the head: gods, she wanted a drink _._ Wine or even whiskey, vile as it was, just something that would knock her right out. It wouldn’t help anything, would make the bleeding worse and would keep her from talking to Caleb; but Veth craved it for a moment like she craved air.  
The self-loathing came in waves after it receded, and Veth breathed through her nose, waiting for the moment to pass.

  
When she could focus again, Caleb’s flirtatiousness had slipped off into worry which he tried to shutter behind his tightened jaw. (It didn’t work, of course. Not on her.) “I-- I am sorry.”  
“It’s alright,” Veth assured him quickly. “It’s not your fault.”  
“You’re injured, I shouldn’t have--”  
“Honey, it’s _okay._ I was into it right up until that last part,” she said, keeping her tone light. It was a bit shaky still, but if she could keep the mood light, if… “Anyway, we’ve made it through worse. And-- and the others will be here soon. They might even get us out legally?”  
A moment of silence. Caleb’s pained expression loosened slightly. “Ja, I suppose.” He cupped her cheek. “Still, we should not… please rest.”

Veth hesitated, wanting to persist that she was _alright_ , even with the spots of dark hovering ominously at the edges of her vision and her fingertips going numb. Then she nodded, turning her face into his shirt. It was easier to be calm, pressed against his heartbeat; and the dark helped the needling pain in her skull.  
Her pained breathing evened out. Without her notice, Veth’s eyes slid shut. 

Caleb noticed. His arms tightened around her for an instant as he took a sharp breath. After what looked like a painful second, he loosened them, instead curling his body around her and pressing his forehead to her crown.  
Almost imperceptibly he began to rock them both back and forth. “Oh, Veth. Do not leave me here,” he murmured in Zemnian, which fell softly unheard into her hair.

_~_


End file.
